Foundational Binding
by Eternal Contradiction
Summary: --Chaper 3-- Spike and Dru, scourge of Europe, bring their Big Bad attitudes and psychotudes over to NA in search of Angel. What Spike finds instead is the foundation to his future relationship with Buffy. Spuffy
1. Los Angeles, 1981

**Los Angeles****, 1981**

The excessive wailing and crying was grating on Spike oversensitive ears as was the stark whiteness of the large enclosed sterile room on his poor vampiric eyes.   If he didn't love her as much as he did, he'd kill them all now, and get it over with.   If he didn't love her as much as he did, he wouldn't be here in search for the goddamned poofter.    If he didn't bloody well love his lady, he'd have killed his masochist sire years ago.  

So here he was, ambling along rows of newborn babes, with their tiny feet, chubby hands, and huge useless heads.    Dru was fluttering around, looking for the chosen among the few, her darkness a harsh contrast to the innocence surrounding her.  They needed ten young, healthy baby girls to complete the spell.   Ten of these little terrors wouldn't make it through the night.   At least that was a blessing; rid the world of a few more females.   Bloody lovely.

Drusilla was rocking a sobbing child against her unbeating heart, cuddling and coddling, cooing and cawing, terrorizing the tiny thing to a point of… well terror.    When she couldn't make the child scream any louder, she'd pass her to one of their ten accompanying minions with stern orders not to take a bite.   What?   Did you expect Spike and Drusilla to carry the little accidents on their own?

Spike tired shortly of the wailing routine and took to amusing himself.   (Not that kind of amusement you perverts!)    He peeked over the crib of a young boy and shifted into game-face.   The child started screaming louder than anything Dru even dreamed of causing.   Spike smirked.   There was something primitively evil about deliberately making a baby cry.   The air of innocence and baby powder was making him hungry for the fresh blood the babies had to offer… like fresh cookies all warm and gooey out of the oven.   He reached for the lad.   Then, not pleased by the raucous her neighbor was causing, the baby in the next crib over started bawling as well and he disregarded the snack.    Spike, feeling all manly for making one baby cry, sauntered a few feet over, shifting back to his normal façade.  

His starting blue eyes met new-born blue.  He shifted.  Bang! Evil!Spike!   The babe gurgled and giggled in delight.   Spike tried it again.   She raised a tiny chubby hand and grabbed at him.   He was bemused with this tiny creature.    It figured he found the one defective baby.    She grasped at him again and he unwittingly reached down and removed her from the crib. 

Cradling her head in his strong arms, the big bad felt his tough exterior going down the drain.   Fighting back, he snarled down at the minute girl.    She cooed back, a little bit of drool escaping from the corner or her pretty lips.   

"Bloody Hell!"   He dabbed at it with the corner of his sturdy leather duster.   She caught the soft dirty material in her surprisingly strong fist and brought it to her mouth.   Spike tried to pull it away from her.

"What is it Spike?   Have the little cherubs told you their futures yet?"

Ignoring his dark queen, he peered down.   A cherub!   That's exactly what she was.   He glanced over at Dru, who was in a serious conversation with one of the babies.   Glad she was otherwise occupied, he flicked the tiny nameplate off the little girl's bassinette and replaced it with the still shrilly screaming boy's.   The girl had his duster in her vise-like grasp and was sucking on its precious fabric.

"Hey now!   No, don't do that.  It's all yucky and germy, and you could get sick."   Shocked that he cared, he shoved the cherub back into her crib and sauntered over to the many minions.   "Oi!   You with the hair and crooked teeth.   Move out, we're done here."    One of the minions grabbed the little boy with the feminine nameplate, and Spike smirked, glad he had succeeded in foiling Angel's return and his little cherub's demise.   

Prowling a few feet behind the marching minions and a swaying Dru, Spike cockily grabbed one of the nearby babies and quickly drained its blood.    Throwing it aside, he glanced once more into the reflective white room and wiped his mouth.   "Goodbye 'lizabeth."

For no self respecting mother would call her daughter Buffy, it had to be short for something.

And with a swirl of his duster, he reentered the carnage of the hospital corridor and vacated the premises, never completely forgetting about the strange young girl who held his heart for such a short time.

Disclaimer:   Blah, blah, Joss, will you bear by children?

Summary:   Spike and Dru, scourge of Europe, bring their Big Bad attitudes and psychotudes over to NA in search of Angel.   What Spike finds instead is the foundation to his future relationship with Buffy. 


	2. Los Angeles, 1986

**Los Angeles****, 1986**

Buffy was bad, she was wild, she was adventurous, and she was kind of scared.   Her hand desperately grasped her cousin Celia's, as the two young girls stealthily hurried through the dark on the way to the park.   Each had a backpack of supplies on her back, and a wide pasted-on grin for comfort.    In her other hand, little blonde Buffy swung a frail Barbie flashlight across the shortly cut Californian grass.

Celia giggled.   Buffy's return giggle sounded hollow to even her five-year old ears.    Celia clasped both her hands to her mouth to stifle the nervous laughter, and Buffy found her security of contact in jeopardy.    She slipped her arm through her cousin's elbow just as a twig snapped on their right.   Both girls jumped and screamed.   Nothing was there.   Celia started to chortle again, but Buffy couldn't shake the uneasy feeling she was being watched.   With arms still clutched, the blonde turned and began to drag the brunette back home.

They made it to the front lawn before they were both grasped and hauled into the night.   The tiny pink flashlight shattered on the pavement where it landed after Buffy beamed it at an attacker's head.   All was quiet.

Spike was playing people poker in a dank sewer nook when two minions scuttled in, each carrying a little girl.   The pretty brunette was silently sobbing, and rested dejected over her captor's shoulder.   Spike's attention was drawn to the little blonde hellion who was screaming and kicking.   The minion came from behind and backhanded her.   She bit her captor's ear.    Howling, the underling dropped her to the floor and gave her a swift kick.   The brunette was placed beside the blonde and the fledgling stepped over to his master.

"Your stakes sir."   

The vampire across from Spike smiled wickedly.   "It's a pity I'm behind in the game, I'd much rather take these children home and have some fun."   The poker players all chuckled evil.   

The cards were dealt, Spike inwardly scowled at his pair of twos, and the queen, jack, and king of hearts.   He discarded the pair and was immediately dealt the other two twos.   With years of practice under his belt he slipped a queen from the folds of his duster and replaced it with the jack.

Winning this round, Spike had enough chips to claim a person from the vamp across from him.   The 'owner' of the two little girls beckoned Buffy to him.   She came meekly, but kicked him hard on the shin when he reached out to touch her.   The vampire howled.  Spike smirked, no longer hiding his prevalent emotions for the game.    One of the grungy minions grabbed Buffy by the hair and yanked her over to Spike.   She was forced down on her knees before him.

She raised her hazel eyes defiantly, and Spike was struck the second time by those tear-streaked orbs.    He jerked her chin up, noticing she was peering at him with hope from behind a curtain of bangs.    He pulled her onto his lap and bared her neck.   He was not a merciful person.

"Buffy!?"   The timid voice of the tiny brunette was almost lost to Spike's superhearing, yet he did hear it, and he was chilled.   Dropping one of her pigtails, he wretched his mouth away from her neck and snarled.   She relaxed.  He lunged again.   This time one of his fangs grazed her shoulder and he could taste the sweet purity of her young blood.    It was followed by an essence he couldn't quite identify.   Maybe it was the taste of his betrayal.   He turned away and struggled out of game-face.    It would be useless to kill her now; after all he went through switching her as a baby.

The tiny blonde trembled on his knee and he placed an arm around her as he was dealt another hand.    With her pressed against his front, there was no way he could cheat without risking someone noticing.   Children this age had big mouths.   He took a swig of whiskey, hoping his luck would change, since it was all he was playing with.

The stakes rose, Spike threw in more chips, and Buffy stared at his cards in fascination.

"If you get one more card with a 'K' on it, you'll have five.   See."   She held up her hand to demonstrate.   "One, two, three, four and five."

Everyone folded.   Spike stared down at his hand of a three, five, eight, ace and jack.   He had nothing.   He put his horrible hand down and smirked at the table, grabbing his winnings smugly.

"You know poker, luv?"

Her cute little blonde head nodded beside his chin.   "My dad lets me play with him sometimes.   Just like this."    Spike felt a shot of protective anger go through him.   A dad was supposed to teach a child cheating is wrong, not encourage it.   That thought was quickly replaced with wonderings of how to corrupt her further.

Soon he was back in the game.   She never piped up, and he noticed his cards always had at least a pair in them… workable ones.    No one paid attention to the little sprite on his lap.   She slipped a broken chip off the table and hid it in her hand.   When everyone's attention was centered on a new arrival at the door, she flicked the chip at the vamp across from her.   It bounced harmlessly onto the floor.   Spike grabbed another off the table and played with it for a moment.

"Like this, pet."   Spike looked away conspicuously and flicked it strongly at the vampire across from him.   It jammed bloodily in his eye.    She screamed.   What's-his-name roared.   Spike shielded her eyes with his jacket and stared at the angering vampire.   A trickle of blood rained down humanoid features as the injured vamp dug his sharp fingernails into the sensitive skin of a minion's stomach.   Spike was amused a little chip could cause so much damage with just a flick of a wrist.   Chaos broke out, captives scurried for safety, minions scurried to masters, the little girl in his arms wriggled as her cousin screamed in pain.  Spike grabbed one of the foolish fledglings scurrying towards their master.

"I'll trade those two,"   He gestured over his shoulder to his many winnings tied on the floor.   "For the other little chit."   His poker buddy howled in pain.   Bloody wussy ponce.    "The lil bit and I'll be leaving now."

Gathering Buffy protectively in his arms while hiding the surrounding fiasco from view, he somehow managed to pick up the other child.   One of his loyal minions scurried over to help, but he sent them home with a tilt of his head and a few harsh words.

They trekked far into the sewers, Spike knowing the tunnels like the back of his hand.   He had the petite blonde snuggled to his chest while the other child clung desperately to the back of his jacket.    At one point, finally annoyed by the constant tugging and whimpering, he jerked the leather out of her grasp.   Celia cried out as she fell in the dank sewage.   Buffy stirred in her drowsy state and blinked over his shoulder.   Spike cursed and grabbed the little chit's arm and dragged her over to a nearby manhole opening.

Above them were human voices.   Spike sat on the ledge, cradling Buffy with one arm and reached for a cigarette with the other.    Lighting up, it occurred to him how ridiculous he was being.   He untangled Buffy's hand from his coat and placed her next to her cowering cousin.

He was a few feet away when a strong young voice called out to him from the dark.   "Who'll protect us from the scary monsters?"

"I am a scary monster."   He lunged, slipping into gameface.    He paid no attention to the brunette screaming and cowering behind Buffy, his eyes were on the future slayer.    For the second time in his life he was shocked at her laughing in the face of evil.    He stalked towards her, intending to show her just how evil he was.   She never flinched, even when he grabbed her hard enough to leave a bruise on her tender young skin, but Spike did.

What kind of big bad was he if he had to terrorize children to prove his evilness?   

Instead of hitting her like planned, he hoisted her back in his arms and turned towards the manhole.   He made the companion climb the sewer ladder on her own.  Buffy clung securely in his arms.  At the top he nuzzled the soft skin of her cheek before placing her on the ground.   

"You'll forget about this.  Tomorrow you won't even remember anything about me."    He stared down at her, trying out the bloody poncey hypno-thrall thing.   He figured himself an even bigger wanker now than he ever was.

"Nope, your eyes are my favourite colour.   I'll remember you because I want my eyes to look just like yours."  She hugged his leg as he patted her soft hair.

Then to redeem his evil image he stole a small locket from around her neck and slipped it in his pocket.   Fading into the shadows, he watched the brunette pull at a reluctantly staring Buffy, and followed them as the scuttled home into the dark night.

He spent some time hotwiring a vintage black DeSoto as the youth riskily climbed a tree and through a window next door.   The engine caught as the window on the second floor shut quietly.   Buffy turned and looked out the window, placing her palm on the glass as her young eyes peered wisely into the night.

He was able to read her lips as she whispered 'I won't forget,' into the still hours of darkness.

Neither girl spoke of the nightmare they had that night, soon Celia would be dead, and little Buffy would find out the reality of things that go bump in the night.


	3. Woodstock, 1969

**Woodstock****, 1969**

Hey Jude!   That was a bleeding long song.   Day one of Woodstock and they're already making sad songs better.   There was abso-bloody-lutly nothing wrong with a nice depressing song.   They were fun backdrops for drinking and draining people.   Smoke hung strongly in the air, and everyone rejoiced freedom of expression and all that crock.

Spike did his own part ruining the atmosphere by chain-smoking.  He blended in with the hippies and the beatniks with his tight stonewashed jeans and open leather vest.    A group of three teenage girls spouting about flower-power eyed his bare chest appreciatively as he wandered through the crowds of people with no hope of seeing the stage.   Somewhere among the hordes was Dru, not even having to try to blend in with the doped up psychos and loonies.

Spike flicked his cigarette onto someone's exposed back and ground his heel into it despite the screams of protestation and pain.   Immediately he lit another one with his stolen Zippo.   It felt good to be so bad.   His cigarette glowed red in the dark sky, echoed by various similar smoldering red dots throughout the field.   He blew out a puff of smoke and was dragged into a nearby tent by a pair of strong hands.

He fell to the grassy floor, tangled among limbs and bodies of the unconscious.   A few girls sat in a semi-circle giggling and smoking pot.   Spike took the offered joint and pretended to take a puff.   The tiny hand of a redhead felt him up as he passed the marijuana on.   Without having to breathe Spike was able to outlast all the doped up hippies.   He smirked as the last one fell muttering onto his crotch.

Grabbing a handful of red hair, he ripped into the delicate neck flesh and slurped down the life's essence of the woman.   Her borrowed blood coursed strongly through his veins, elevating his senses.   The concoction of female plasma and drugs was bloody exhilarating!   He drained hippie after hippie, chortling happily to himself.   He wasn't quite sure why he hadn't done this before.

Bright swirls hummed in his eyes.   Everything multiplied into threes and fours.    Fascinated, he was still staring at his six hands as his eyes rolled back and he collapsed.

Filtered light peeked through the thin material of the make-shift tent.    Spike experimentally stared at his still hand which was covered in drying blood.   He wiped the mess on his jeans, leaving a trail of fingers in its wake.   Someone stepped in the tent, causing the vamp to flinch backwards from the sun.

Blonde hair.   Tiny figure.   Cute and short.   Lunch!   He hadn't fed in… ok, so he had just fed; it was time for a snack.

"Someone has been very naughty."    She gestured to the bodies around him, beneath him, on top of him.   Spike shrugged.   She looked vaguely familiar, like a memory in the distant past.

"I could be naughty with you, luv.   I could be _very naughty."   He ran his tongue over his teeth and tried to shift into game-face.   He couldn't.   The bint laughed and crouched beside him when he realized he wasn't going vamp._

"Spike."   She placed a hand on his lower abdomen and ran it lightly upwards until it curved around his shoulder.   "If you could kill me, you know what I'd have to do."

"Slay me."   Thoughts of such a tiny thing slaying him should have been amusing.   But he knew slayers.  They exhilarated him, challenged him, and almost killed him… he could sense the slayerdom in her blood.   He'd be stupid to never fear them.   She scared the hell out of him, not as a slayer, but as a woman.

She nodded briefly and brushed her lips lightly over his.    She smiled so tenderly he thought he was going to gag.   Deciding two could play this game, he forced her backwards onto the jumble of the recently drained.   This stupid little chit didn't know who she was dealing with.   He'd bloody well killed a slayer!   His hands reached for her neck, intent on strangling the life out of her.

Instead, out of no violation of his own, he felt his finger sifting through her silky blonde hair a second before his mouth violently met hers.    She surged up against him, her hot little mouth and tongue washing away all repulsion he was feeling.

"I love you Sp..."   

"Spike?"   A finger poked his shoulder.   Fabric shifted around him.   He moaned and felt his teeth firmly attached to the cold muscle of his last victim.   Gathering up his strength, he peered up at Drusilla.   "Miss Edith says you were in a very bad place.   So full of light.   Of love.   The buff woman is not the one you need."

His teeth finally listened to his mind and retracted from the rotting jugular.   Spike scraped them across his tongue, trying to rid the horrid taste in his mouth.   He didn't know if he was trying to dispel the tepid blood, or the still lingering taste of slayer salvia exciting his bland taste buds.   Disgusted, he realized there was only one thing to do for redemption.   William the Bloody stumbled to his feet and left Dru.

"Where are you going, my murky elf?"   

He paused for a second to light a cigarette, and savored the dangerous burning taste.   "To bag myself slayer number two."   He held out his hand, waiting for her to rise from the mass of bodies where she belonged.

"But that's the wrong way to go."  She paused, humming, and looked at him smugly.   "You'll scare her into the arms of daddy."

"Daddy's dead, and so is she."

The slayer he found was neither blonde nor lovely.   He was relieved to discern he didn't fancy to snog or shag her senseless.   Her blood was still the sweetest ambrosia and he looked forward to his next match.

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I originally intended this to be a trilogy, but intentionally left it open incase inspiration struck.   I hope you all enjoyed Spike!   I know I'd enjoy Spike.

©RelenaFanel2004


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